


"What's in his head... and his heart"

by Allabouttherrelationship



Category: Chicago Fire
Genre: #brettsey, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:21:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27734479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allabouttherrelationship/pseuds/Allabouttherrelationship
Summary: Set at the end and immediate after season 9 episode 2. A story from Matt's point of view about finally kissing Sylvie and his internal response.
Relationships: Sylvie Brett/Matthew Casey
Comments: 7
Kudos: 84





	"What's in his head... and his heart"

**Author's Note:**

> This is my attempt to explain the conversation and reactions of the end of S9 Eps 2, and rectify the situation at least until NBC gives us something else in January. Hopefully I have done it justice. Please let me know what you liked and what you loved.

He said, ‘I don’t know.”

What the fuck? 

He could have said a hundred, thousand, million other things that would have explained better than ‘I don’t know’. ‘Shit!’

He claws his hands across his face, like he is trying to remove his skin, then leans forward to bang his own forehead against the cold steering wheel of his truck. It’s probably cartoon-like in appearance but it is his legitimate attempt to rearrange the mess of thoughts and feelings after that horrible exchange with Sylvie.

“Dammit Casey, you really fucked up this time!” he says aloud to the empty truck. Because his internal profanities no longer seem adequate in terms of the required level of self-deprecation. 

Now he lets his head now tip backwards to the head-rest, and his eyes drift close as he vividly recaps the moments before this epic mess. It hadn’t started out horrible. Well, he had actually arrived Sylvie’s front door in a fit of confusion and worry around her recent and blatant avoidance. He had in all honesty skipped the appropriate pleasantries and practically demanded answers the moment her front door unlatched. 

He wasn’t shocked that she had confirmed her avoidant behavior, Sylvie was always transparently honest even if she was being called out. But he was fully blindsided when she further responded with ‘so I wouldn’t end up doing this’ as her lips met his for the very first time. 

It, their first kiss, was completely brief, way too brief for his liking. When she pulled back, with hesitance, he unfastened his eyes again to gape at her. Vulnerability and uncertainty covered the expanse of her features, like she was unsure that her approach was pleasantly received or the want reciprocated.

That certainly would not do. God… he has dreamed about kissing Sylvie Brett for months. Too many damm months, to leave her standing there questioning the wisdom behind her actions. 

While moving forward to reciprocate, he marveled briefly at her bravery, for being the one to finally hurl them off the ledge that they had been straddling in their relationship. She had to be the most courageous woman he has known. 

The second time his lips met hers was not brief, yet time itself seemed to slow as he maneuvered backwards into her apartment, solidly shutting the front door to anything except them. Their lips had only separating momentarily for reciprocated soft smiles, a silent exchange of giddiness to what they were finally doing.  
Her kissing embodied that paradox of Sylvie Brett. Her mouth was exquisite, affectionate yet demanding more from him, moving in a tangled union with his own. Her body fully snug against him was this strange combination of both a temperate hug and an electric charge. She had both cradled his face with tenderness and tugged at his hair with want. She could be both warmer than fire and harder than ice. It was a perfect and awing contradiction.

She had broke from their make-out session to express words, acknowledging aloud to him that she had wanted this for a long time. God, him too, which is why he was savoring this moment, just like he would two fingers of top shelf whisky. The entirety of it was unhurried, exploratory and for Matt these unexpected and emergent feelings of ecstasy mixed with fullness and completeness. 

But when she paused them again, to ask about Gabby returning, that night, and if Gabby asked him to go, ‘would he go?’ He became blindsided for the second time that evening. At first his brain was screaming, ‘why the hell are we talking about Gabby?’ Which was probably the reason for his awkward response indicating he had not talked to her in a long time. Perhaps that was his clumsy effort to brush past bring his ex into what had been a long awaited and resounded perfect moment.  
However, Sylvie appeared displeased with his response. So, he worked on focusing up to the question. ‘Would he go?’ He could have just said ‘No.’ Because that was the correct answer to the manner in which she phrased the question. He had made that decision repeatedly in the past. Gabby had requested, urged even bargained for him to accompany her to Puerto Rico on more than one occasion. His refusal each time had come easily despite or perhaps because of their relationship. NO. ‘No he would not leave Chicago. No, he would not leave his family at 51. No, he would not leave the profession he would live and die for.’ Sylvie, of course, wouldn’t know that he had previously had that opportunity and had refused. 

But even in that moment, he had understood that that unsuccessfully worded question from Sylvie was not what she was truly asking. It wasn’t will he go to Puerto Rico, or will he leave Chicago, it was actually if Gabby wanted him back, whether that be another night in a hotel room, renewing their relationship or their marriage, would he say yes to any or all of the above?

Those questions were slightly more difficult to answer. His response ‘I don’t know’ came out in a huff of historical personal frustrations and an overarching self-doubt. 

The words themselves had been physically painful, like he was spitting sand from his throat. But not as painful as the sucker punch to his abdomen he felt immediately afterwards. As upon hearing his words he had witnessed Sylvie practically crumbled before his eyes.

She tried to house a mature and brave face and response, acknowledging his honesty, even fully accepting the responsibility for their feeling towards one another when she knew he ‘still in love with Gabby’.

‘Hold up’ his brain chanted at a decibel which started to make his head throb in time with his erratic heart-beat. He could feel this conversation spinning like a tornado, a chartered path of destruction which he was helpless to avoid. 

When he attempted to open his mouth to explain, beginning with ‘it’s more complex than that’ she had immediately shut him down. ‘Really it’s not’ she replied, more clipped than he has ever heard her voice to him before. That hurt. Fuck, that had hurt. Like that two way, mutual invitation, open door, they had built together was suddenly and violently slammed in his face.

It felt… well it felt reminiscent of his relationship with Dawson. That awful and repetitious experience of the other person deciding the conversation was over, and then casting him aside. 

Looking back now, Sylvie was probably just protecting herself. Attempting to stop the perceived bleed that may or may not have continued with the conversation. He didn’t blame her for that. 

Unfortunately, the ugly feeling of rejection had resulted in his complete and acute shut down. 

When she asked him to leave, he didn’t have the foresight or forte to contest. Not that he would have argued per say, he would always be respectful of Sylvie’s wishes but he could have, should have, asked for the opportunity to explain. If he could have only caught his breath, got his thoughts in order and shared them to be understood, he wouldn’t be in this mess. Perhaps losing what was just barely started. 

He stood from the couch looking down at her, sadness and frustration coursing through his blood and bones. How is this happening? This isn’t them. They talk, they communicate, they stand by each other through everything. 

Yet, the pain in her eyes, the pain tore at his stomach lining, bile rising in his throat as he had put it there. It has him slinking and shrinking away. He couldn’t, wouldn’t make it worse. 

So, he left, and now sat in his truck outside her apartment as self-inflicted torture for his behavior. 

Just then his phone buzzed in his jeans pocket. He frantically removed it, praying it could be her again opening herself to him despite his fuck up. 

Unfortunately it’s Severide. But he punches at the accept button and murmurs “hey” in utter disappointment. 

Kelly’s voice booms in his ear with a surprising level of anger, “This is your method of resolving it? Are you a complete dumbass?”

“How…” he trails off, this seems to be his night for being shocked and tongue tied. His brain formulates a conclusion a little quicker than previously in the evening. “Stella,” he says with recognition. 

“Yup Stella. Sylvie called her about a half hour, from what I can tell from the one sided conversation I can overhear, Brett is a complete wreck. What the hell happened man?” Kelly asked.

“Well, she kissed me, I kissed her… we kissed… it was amazing,” he says wishing again that the story ended there. Kelly helpfully reminds him this is not the case.

“And?” he prompts, seemingly still irritated. Isn’t Kelly supposed to be his best friend? It feels like he is rallying with Sylvie. Not that there are sides, or that this isn’t his fuck up. 

He finds himself continuing anyways, “And then out of no where she brought up Gabby. I was blindsided… a complete bumbling idiot. She asked me if I would go with Gabby if she came back to Chicago, and when I stumbled through my answer, said “I don’t know” she seemed to assume from that that I was still in love with Dawson. Then she asked to me fricken leave, and the hurt in her eyes… I just shut down and walked out the door. Fuck, I blew it.” 

“Sounds like it. You need to fix this Case,” Kelly says solemnly. Now Matt hears a little more compassion and understanding in his friend voice. 

“You don’t think I know that?” Matt huffs, again frustrated because the whole thing sounds even more stupid aloud.

“Take a breath man, maybe a few… deep ones. This is completely fixable. Just sort your shit out and go talk to her.”

“I really thought I already had my shit sorted out” he mumbles more to himself than Kelly.

Kelly snorts, then says “Well if that was true, we probably wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

He continues, “Look it’s not completely surprising… the fuck up I mean… Dawson, both in name and person has always put you on shaky ground, equally when you were and weren’t together. She regularly made you question yourself, what you believe and what you want. And trust me, as your friend, it sucks to have had a bleacher seat for each episode of that. Yet you routinely made the choice to return for more. I never got if it was just a bad habit, some twisted sense of loyalty or just messed up love, but I didn’t ever needed to know the answer to that, only you do. And now it seems so does Brett. So, figure it out once and for all, and put it into coherent and respectable words, and tell her for you both to hear. Copy?” 

“Yeah Copy” Casey echoes, internally thankful for Sev’s ability to focus him.

“Also, just so know Stella is exponentially more pissed than I was before speaking to you. The daggers I am catching on your behalf are literally painful. So, if you don’t get this fixed tonight you might want to find another place to crash. There is only so much I can do to protect you, man.” 

“Thanks for the warning,” Matt finds himself saying. He can completely picture Stella’s current state of wrath and decides immediately will sleep in his truck if required. 

He ends the call, to take some steadying breaths. 

He says aloud to himself, “Okay Case, focus up”. Like it or not, it’s time to actively think about and consider Gabriela Dawson. 

‘Argh!’, he shifts in his seat like it has suddenly become as uncomfortable as a wooden church pew. 

His 6 year, on and off again relationship with Dawson would be a lot to unpack in one sitting, so he for right this minute he needed to focus on the most important parts. In all honesty the entirety of their time together had been riddled with the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. It had been this rocking boat of sheer bliss followed by utter chaos. There had rarely been anything comfortably between those two states of being. That had been exhilarating in the beginning, maybe a challenge or adventure in his belief that they would conquer life together. But as the years progressed it had drained him because it became more and more apparent that they had differing views of doing that ‘together’. In the end together for Gabby appeared to be her making the independent decisions, and him following along while questioning or bending his own morals, beliefs, wants and needs. 

Despite that he had always referred to Gabby as ‘his miracle’. His reference had been rooted in his tendency for self-deprecation, his personal disbelief that he deserved her or her love. Everything else in his life, his childhood, abusive father, absent mother, dead girlfriend, had taught him that he was not entitled to such a gift. He worked hard to be worthy, to love Gabby with all he had, but in the end, it had not been nearly enough. And when she finally left him, he was certain that had lost his chance, because true miracles were a once in lifetime. So, he had lost his one and only shot.

Perhaps that had been the reason he had accompanied Gabby to the gala 6 months ago. A last ditch grapple or grasp at his only miracle? But when he woke that morning, Gabby laying in bed beside him, although he may always love her, he had realized whole heartedly it would never be the relationship he wanted.  
He had walked out that hotel room door resigned miracles were singular, quick, and fleeting. And willing himself to accept in some fashion that the relationship he longed for would never be attainable.

Yet he had surprisingly started to experience small aspects of that desire relationship with another person, Sylvie. It had started off quietly, small words of comfort and encouragement towards one another, not unlike with any other friend. But it developed into something deeper and significant as small exchanges became sought out divulgence of both joys and struggles, not just in extremes but in the normal and every day. It was unique to him, to be able to express his thoughts and feelings experience them being really heard. It was also startling to be asked to weigh in on Sylvie’s life, and have his opinion considered and valued. Through all of it Sylvie respected his morals and principles, even appreciated them. 

Sylvie in that last year had become more to him… more than a miracle… was there a word for that? A wonder? A rarity? A revelation. She managed a shift in perception, a personal forgiveness, a healing, a peace. She had refreshed and renewed his belief in himself. Being around Sylvie had made him a better person. No, she wouldn’t accept that comment, she would say that he does that on his own. He is a better person himself, but because she inspired him. He was more too. He was deserving and worthy, she taught him that by the way she cared for him and let him care for her. He had fallen in love with that feeling, and in love with the woman who had blessed him with that realization. Holly Shit! He is in love with Sylvie Brett. Sylvie Brett, who loves everyone with the devotion and fieriness that she is adamant they wholly deserved because she was all heart and the essence of faith and purity. He love’s her! 

Panic sets in again momentarily as he realizes that acknowledging he loves her only magnifies how royally he has fucked up. But a tiny voice pleasantly reminds him again the way Sylvie loves others is unconditional. She firmly believes fully in second chances, if he could formulate appropriate sentences and get opportunity to explain he can and will salvage this.

So, back to her question, was he still, ALSO in love with Gabby? Would he honestly and truly return to her? No. No. He sighs, almost in relief but also in peace, as the answer bounces around fully in his head. He had loved Gabby. But that love with Gabby had become a memory. Memories that are meant to be recalled and valued but they belonged in the past. 

He was worthy of more than a memory or a remanence; Sylvie had taught him that. Sylvie Brett was the future he wanted. She would undoubtedly need some convincing. She saw the previous relationship first-hand, lived in Gabby’s shadow as a professional and was probably worried about experiencing that in her personal life. She would need to know that she is his choice, despite the timeline she is now and will forever be his first choice. Sylvie was what he wanted. He knew himself, he could be a determined son of a bitch when he set his sights on a task. This task was the most important in the entirety of his life, and Sylvie Brett was the awing treasure at its end.


End file.
